Wintergreen
by zedonkulouslybashful
Summary: Tamlen paces outside the party camp while Trap-making!Mahariel pleads with Herbalism!Morrigan to find a way to cure her "friend". The mage gets unexpected assistance from other party members. But, with the sketchy ingredients they have, will their potion help...or hurt?


**Prompt**: dragon age - k ink . live journal 8033 . ? thread = 39125857 # t39125857

**Prompt gist**: Magic potion makes Tamlen into a defacto Grey Warden. If it works.

**Not-Prompt**: dragon age - k ink . live journal 8033 . ? thread = 28348513 # t28348513

**Not-Prompt gist**: Mahariel is peeved at Zevran for being free and loose with his secret first name. (Since this is not-Zevran and not-slash, it's a not-prompt.)

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**Notes**: For this fic, Tamlen's first name is Conall, which means "strong wolf". Just like Lyna is called Mahariel by most, Tamlen's first name is reserved for use by his lover. Mahariel also intentionally calls Zevran "Arainai" for this reason: they are kin (after a fashion) and _not_lovers, thankyouverymuch.

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**Works consulted**:

_Elvish language_ - /works/359253?view_full_work=true

_Title_ - wiki/Gaultheria_procumbens

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"I must remind you, Mahariel...I am no healer," said Morrigan. The mage pinched spruce needles into her mortar and ground them into a paste with the pestle.

"But you have the knowledge of healing plants," the elf insisted.

Behind her, just beyond the camp's perimeter, Tamlen alternated between pacing, plugging his ears (to the Archdemon's persuasive song), and lashing his arms forward at nothing. After a concerned glance at him, Mahariel again pleaded with Morrigan.

"Did Asha'bellanar [Flemeth] teach you nothing that could help him?"

Mildly insulted, Morrigan said, "Your **own** mouth acknowledged, just a moment ago, that I have skill you do not." She set the mortar and pestle down in a huff, then inhaling and closing her eyes, she said, "I know of a flower in the Korcari Wilds that _could_ have helped him." She dramatically opened her eyes and continued, "**But**, we are _leagues _from there and he is-" The mage looked over her fire toward Mahariel's tormented clan-mate. Watching him thrash about, she finished, lowering her eyes, "He is too far gone. ...I am...I am sorry."

Mahariel blinked; it was the first time Morrigan had ever admitted any deficiency or weakness. The initial numbness of the verdict slowly but sternly gripped her heart...then strangled it.

"**No!** I don't believe you!" yelled Mahariel, turning from her. Oghren, sitting at the main campfire during his watch, shifted his suspicious gaze from the blighted lunatic over the fire in front of him to the outburst at his left.

Exasperated, Morrigan called out, "The best I could do is give him a poultice to-" The swift, fierce look Mahariel gave the mage over her shoulder stilled Morrigan's tongue.

The conversation was (apparently) over.

Morrigan thought, "_'Tis just as well. ...No sense wasting good ingredients in short supply._" She clinked and ground her frustration with the mortar and pestle. But, with her skin turning gooseflesh in the Frostback Mountains' wind (and in recollection of the broodmother "Laryn"), her fervor waned; she really did want to help her friend stop the corruption of this Tamlen.

Mahariel plopped on a log near Oghren with her head in her hands, back turned to Morrigan and with Tamlen in her periphery. The dwarf offered, slowly, "...Plants aren't the only things that can heal ya, ya know?"

With her hair still threaded through her fingers, she tilted her gaze to Oghren and asked, skeptically, "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, seeming to puff up slightly, "Deep mushrooms can perk you up when yer tuckered. ...And lifestones, they, they're good for all kinds of stuff." He paused, waiting for affirmation of his genius. When it didn't come, he continued, "I mean, if Morrigan mixes her fancy, smancy potions with a few of those, why, it's bound to do him some good." Oghren glanced at Tamlen and thought, "_The worst it could do is put him out of his misery._"

"...Do you have any?" asked Mahariel, quietly, willing even to try the pitiful drunk's suggestion.

Oghren's plugged his 'water' hip flask with its stopper and dug in his pack. He tossed her two cracked, orange rocks and an oozy mushroom. Both were flecked with phosphorescent blue.

She turned them over, inspecting, then asked, "What's the blue stuff?"

"Heheh," he chuckled, "Lyrium."

Mahariel threw them on the ground at his feet and stood, heatedly. "How can **_poison_** help **cure** him?" she yelled, certain the dwarf was being an insensitive fool. Oghren shrank and stared at the fire before he uncorked his flask again. Zevran, from his tent, heard the word 'poison' and stopped cleaning his daggers.

"My warden," he said, peeking his head out of the flap, "if you want someone dead, all you must do is ask."

She roared, "_**I DON'T WANT SOMEONE**_," pointed toward the agitated Tamlen, then voice cracking, "...dead."

Zevran's smirk slowly fell. "Ah...I see," he said, understanding why she resisted his advances...but then not quite certain why he was saved.

Hope falling, she said, counting on her fingers, "So far, we've got health poultices, a couple of sparkly rocks, and a glowing mushroom." Eyes flashing, she demanded, "Do **you** know of anything?"

Morrigan had finished her chore and came to relieve Oghren of his watch, handing him his ration of fresh poultices. As the mage asked "Glowing mushroom?", Zevran simultaneously asked, "Sparkly rocks?" They both exchange surprised looks at the other, apparently having something in common and yet knowledge the other didn't possess.

Oghren kicked the reagents just short of the fire and pointed to them as he grunted, "There." Then he retreated into his tent. Mahariel noted he didn't toddle and sway as he generally did; she would have been surprised if she wasn't preoccupied.

Zevran crawled out and Morrigan picked up the rocks and fungi. The mage absently handed the stones to Zevran as she examined the deep mushroom. But he said, "My dear, I would but I like not being chemically burnt." Mahariel, who was wearing gloves, took the lifestones with renewed interest.

She asked both of them, "What do you know about this stuff?"

Zevran replied, "Lifestones are rare and...essential for the best acids." Unblinking, he marveled at the stones as though they were diamonds.

"Deep mushrooms are the only plant that can grow near a lyrium vein. Mother mixed them with lyrium and a distillation agent to make an ancient elven incense," Morrigan said.

"For what purpose?" Mahariel asked, disliking that Asha'bellanar withheld some of the old wisdom for herself.

"Her own," Morrigan replied in a matter-of-fact tone, then said, "I understand the incense increases one's alertness and mental defenses."

Mahariel thought, "_Tamlen said he hears the-_" She blurted to the mage, excitedly, "Could the incense block out the song of the Archdemon?"

"...I do not know. Perhaps."

Zevran volunteered, "Lifestones are, I believe, also found by lyrium veins. ...Maybe it could be used to intensify the properties of this incense while burning away other things, hm?"

Morrigan cocked her brow and asked, "It? ...Where is the other one, Arainai?"

Caught, he begrudgingly unfolded the shammy in his pocket that he had used to pluck the stone from Mahariel while Morrigan had been talking. He asked, depositing it back into his fellow elf's open hand, "Come now, Morrigan, my friends all call me 'Zevran'. Would it pain you to call me by my first name, hm?"

Without missing a beat, she replied, "Since by 'friends' you mean lovers, yes, it would."

Mahariel asked, bringing them back on task, "Arainai, you say the lifestones could intensify properties of incense. How do we know they wouldn't speed the corruption of his blood? Or if it goes acidic, that it wouldn't burn him from the inside?"

He crossed his arms and held his chin contemplatively. After a moment Mahariel shouted, "**Well?**"

"Perhaps," he began slowly, "if the components of the solution were allowed to separate while cooling...then remixed before ingestion...maybe that could be mitigated."

Morrigan, despite herself, was impressed. She thought, "_The Crows apparently produce talented alchemists_," then she squinted, "_...For poison-making, no doubt._" She wondered at his true intent, still uncertain if he had truly forsaken his original commission: "_What better way to test a new Grey Warden-killing poison than to do so on a sentient darkspawn ghoul..._"

Instead of making these concerns known, she protested, "Are we going to play alchemy then? Here in the unforgiving wilderness, with depleted supplies, after slaying a broodmother only meters below our feet?"

Zevran purred, "My dear Morrigan, you worry too much," and ducked into his tent for a pot and additional ingredients.

Apparently not asleep, Oghren stuck his head out of his tent and said, "If the darkspawn were digging this way, he" pointing to Tamlen with his thumb, "would have high-tailed it by now. So if you're gonna do something, get on with it. The sodding lunatic is keeping me awake **and so are you all!**" He grumbled other unintelligible things (probably expletives) before returning to his bedroll.

As Zevran set up what would be their open-air laboratory, Mahariel clutched the rocks that could help cure...or kill...her Tamlen and asked, "So...what goes in the pot first?"

In response she heard, "Mush-stone-root." Mahariel's shoulders slumped as Oghren, Zevran, and Morrigan proceeded to bicker.

"The mushroom will invigorate him if the potion proves acidi-," started Morrigan.

"The blighter's been pacing for over an hour!" grumped a sleepy Oghren. "Elfroot'll mellow-"

"Ah but if we start with the lifestone then-" began Zevran.

Mahariel interrupted, "**Enough!** Throw it **all** in!"

Morrigan dumped in (what Mahariel assumed) were the ingredients for the incense while Zevran poured in some of Mahariel's elfroot-derived health poultices. "More, Arainai," she commanded, face hardened by determination.

"But-"

"**More!**"

With the twist of the stopper, Morrigan noticed that Mahariel had no more poultice rations remaining. She rolled her eyes, thinking, "_If this isn't a clever plan of Zevran's, then 'tis a __**wasteful**__, foolish-_"

The mage's judgement was halted by the violent fizzing of the lifestones now chittering in the bottom of the pot. Some of the murky brown foam escaped and caused the flames to burn blue and pop embers at them.

"Remove it from the flame, imbecile," demanded Morrigan of Zevran. While on the snowy ground, the pot's contents bubbled for a few moments longer but cooled quickly. Morrigan tentatively stirred it with a ladle; the rust-red solution was now black with silvery-blue specks.

"Give me a flask, Arainai."

Zevran complied, content to have Mahariel's gloved hands handle the mystery concoction. Morrigan gave her the ladle. Mahariel fought to steady her grip as she measured the solution into the flask so it wouldn't overflow.

Then, her voice quivering in a way they'd never heard, she called out to Tamlen: "Lethal'lin, na ena [Kinsman, come (to me).]"

Morrigan and Zevran watched her progress to him for a moment then turned to their respective tents. Whatever happened, they each knew Mahariel would not want their company afterward.

The ghoul stopped pacing but still batting at the air as they approached each other. Her hand shook as she fumbled to uncork the flask. She said, "Nuvenan thena atisha. [I wish (you) to wake up (in) peace.]"

His brows furrowed over sickly yellow-green eyes as though to question what she meant. As she presented the opened flask, she looked searchingly into his eyes and said, "Emma lath. [My love]." He took the flask. Twitching involuntarily, he emptied the solution into his mouth. Tamlen immediately doubled over, his eyes...white.

Alistair, who had long been asleep, burst awake yelling and sweating as Mahariel held her head in splitting pain. The song was so loud and..._angry_!

Before her, Tamlen convulsed on the ground, scratching at his throat and stomach. He vomited a black acid onto the snow and...blinked blue eyes at the dimming stars above. Soon the sky would be pink with morning. And, for the first time in a long while, he remembered what the sun was.

"Mahariel?" he asked weakly.

"_**TAMLEN?!**_" she shouted, in delighted disbelief.

Sleep-deprived Oghren yelled, "**Did it sodding work or not?**"

"Did _what_ work?" asked Alistair. He held his aching head as he climbed out of his tent.

"Their potion!" said Mahariel, tackling Tamlen in a hug and rolling with him in the snow.

Annoyed to be the only one left out (besides Dog who was still asleep despite the racket), Alistair asked, "_Who's_ potion?"

"**Mine**," Morrigan and Zevran said in unison, emerging from their tents.

"Yeah, well I helped," said Oghren from inside his tent, giving up on the idea of sleep. "...What did you all end up doing anyway?"

Zevran scratched the back of his head while looking to the sky. Morrigan studied the various pock marks in the snow as though to plan the form she would take to escape.

Oghren yelled, ripping his tent flap open, "**You sodding cured his blight ****_and didn't write down how you did it?!_**" Alistair gaped at them, speechless.

Tamlen, helping Mahariel up out of the snow, quieted their shouting by saying: "I still feel the corruption in me."

Everyone shot their attention toward him. Tamlen continued, a shrug in his voice, "I suppose...I'm a Grey Warden now?" He glanced at Mahariel affectionately and she rested her head on his shoulder. They pulled each other close and his stomach growled loudly. "...Um...do you have anything to eat?" he asked Mahariel, shyly.

She smiled then looked in his eyes, wondering if this was a cruel dream. Tracing the vallaslin [blood-written tattoo] along his cheek to his mouth, she asked, "Dara na...na? [Are you...you?]" After a moment of mock consideration, Tamlen nodded then grinned.

The others looked on them for a moment then milled about. Oghren, too awake now, brought Zevran along to get more lifestones from Figor in Orzammar up the mountain. "_A round or two at Tapster's_," he muttered, wondering if their potion could have helped his people...his ex-wife's house...his..._her_...

The cold wind burned the tears he resolved to hide.

Morrigan, who had forenoon watch, stoked the fire and continued reading "The Search for the True Prophet" she'd found while in the Shaperate's library. Alistair stretched, yawned, then said to no one in particular, "Well...eventful morning." Morrigan's eyes flashed above the book, perturbed at his knack to state the obvious. Seeing that Morrigan was the only one still around, he quickly followed after the dwarf and elf.

"...I found some gaultheria...in the woods," Mahariel coyly confessed to Tamlen.

He blinked and said, pleased, "Wintergreen."

She smiled and ventured out of Morrigan's sight, beckoning him to follow. Finding a cluster, she dangled the fruit above her mouth, sucked a few berries off, then smiled at him while she chewed.

Tamlen swallowed, his member responding instantly to her flirtation. Then, noting his post-vomit breath, he chuckled with thanks to the Creators for their kindness. He did so all the more when Mahariel tossed the fruit to him and, with adorable shyness, began to undress.

As she spread her heavy coat on the ground, he quickly disrobed, sated enough for now by a handful of the refreshing berries. Even naked, neither noticed the chill of the mountain air. Their anticipation warmed their blood plenty. Their breath and kisses on each other's skin were warm and wet.

With Mahariel in his arms, he slowly knelt to lay her down on the soft coat. On her back, she gazed up at the eyes she feared she'd never see again. She stroked his brow. He asked, apprehensively, "...Elu'dirth? [...Secret speech?]"

Fondly, she grinned and replied, "Lyna." He beamed, his proposal accepted.

"Na? [Yours?]" she asked.

"Conall."

Guiding him down for a deeper kiss, his arms and chest were warm...smooth...except for the definition of his muscles and the texture of his scars. His hands groped her fleshy contours, stopping only to embrace her tightly in happy disbelief.

More deep, stirring kisses on mouth, neck, and breast.

"Nuvenan na (I want you)," he panted in her ear. Gingerly, her fingertips glided down his side in agreement. She gulped then ventured to take his member into her hand. He shuddered with the sensation. Her breath was shallow and hitched beautifully when he entered her. Tentatively he thrust, checking that the contortions of her face were of pleasure. The initial discomfort faded and she bid him deeper. Her give caused her back to arch and she moaned, lids closing.

That nearly undid him.

But he focused and continued to pump, tempo gradually increasing. The cold air stung his lungs; his breath were in heaving mists.

"Conall," she pleaded, grasping for anything to somehow bring him closer, _deeper_ within her. He released and her head shot back with her constriction around him. Then each stilled and seemed to take turns quivering.

He extracted himself then lied next her, his arms around her waist. Kissing her ear, he whispered, "Lathan na...Lyna. [I love you...Lyna.]"

She shifted to face him, still in his arms, and replied, "Lathan na, Conall." Their foreheads touched as they sweetly snuggled in the chill air.

Silently, a halla chewed on the wintergreen berries and flicked its white tail. It ambled disinterestedly on from there, as though it thought its work accomplished.

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**Question**: Dearest Grammar!Nerds (like I aspire to be) - Tamlen laid her down and Grammar Girl** says if you have an object (in this case Mahariel) then it's lay, not lie. ...Right?

**grammar . quick and dirty tips lay - versus - lie . a s p x


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